Second Sight: An Away From Keyboard Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 9
“Use whatever you need.” His voice is softer now, almost apologetic, but I don’t care. I trudge off to the bedroom, put my duffel bag on the bed, and sink down with my tablet.
The bathroom door closes, and water runs as I send a company-wide email.
I have a minor emergency to deal with today. I’ll be working from home, but will call in for the status meeting at noon.
I’ll catch hell from Noah, and I’m sure Barry will find a way to get a couple of digs in during the meeting, but Dax is right. There’s no way I can go into the office.
Now that I’m no longer in imminent danger, all my various injuries make themselves known. Closing the bedroom door, I strip out of my sweater and wool pants. A fist-sized bruise below my ribs looks to be the worst. But as I take off my bra, I brush a swollen, painful spot on my back where I think I landed on my power strip. Pulling on my tank top makes my entire torso ache, and I slip into a pair of yoga pants before grabbing my toothbrush.
By the time I open the door, all the lights are off, and the apartment is completely silent. The bathroom mirror reveals the bruises around my throat, and I collapse against the counter, suddenly aware how close I came to dying.
His hands squeeze my throat, and he yanks me up a couple of inches before slamming me back down to the floor. “Where is it, bitch?”
“I…don’t…know,” I wheeze, barely able to get the words out, “what…you’re—”
“Evianna?”
Dax. Oh God. Help me!
Safe. I’m safe. In Dax’s apartment. His bathroom. Shit. On the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees. “Get up, Evianna. Brush your damn teeth and go to bed. In the morning, you’ll figure out what to do.”
My little pep talk gets me to Dax’s bed, and his scent surrounds me. The few minutes he held me after the attack, I felt safe. Safer than I’ve felt since this whole mess started.
I wish he’d hold me again. Just long enough for me to take a deep breath. To get my head clear. But I can’t ask, so I bury my face in a pillow to hide my sobs.
Dax
Well, you fucked that right up, Holloway. Couldn’t just explain it to her? Had to yell at a woman who’s just been attacked, her home violated?
Punching the pillow, I turn over. I didn’t tell Evianna I sleep on the couch all the time. Six years after escaping Hell, and there are still some nights I can’t stand the softness of the mattress.
Searing pain lances through my temple, and I sit up with a hiss. Fucking migraines. The Imitrex leaves me fuzzy, and Evianna needs me at my best in the morning, so I head for the bathroom to grab a couple of Tylenol. Closed in the darkness, I tentatively feel for the toothpaste. In the perfect spot. I’m not surprised.
I stick my head under the faucet for a mouthful of water and toss the two pills back, hoping they’re enough.
As soon as I crack the door, I hear it. Her muffled crying from the bedroom. Shit. I can’t just ignore her pain. Not when some of it is on me.
“Evianna?” I reach the end of the bed and ease a hip onto the mattress. “What can I do?”
“I-I’m…f-fine,” she stutters. “Go…away.”
Sucking in a sharp breath at the tone in her voice, I’m back in Hell. Huddled against a wall in the darkness, praying for some sign I’m not alone. Every day. Every night. All the times they kept us separated. Whenever they made us watch one of our fellow prisoners die. The pain wasn’t the worst of it. Shit. Not even losing my sight was as bad as the fear no one would find us. Hear us. See us ever again.
I know what Evianna needs. The same thing I needed every fucking day.
To know she’s not alone.
“Do you trust me?” Sliding closer, I pat the bed until I find her arm wrapped around a pillow, and rest my fingers against her cool skin.
For a moment, silence blankets the room. I pushed too hard. But then, she whispers, “Yes.”
“Scoot over.”
“Dax, I don’t want…I hardly know you.” Despite her protests, she wriggles to the other side of the bed, and when I get under the covers, she holds her breath.
Lying on my side, my back to her, I tuck my arm under my head. “Get yourself comfortable so you can rest your hand against my back or my shoulder.”
Confusion colors her tone. “What? How’s that supposed to help anything?”
Choking back a laugh, I pull the blankets a little higher. In a t-shirt and pajama pants, most of my scars are covered, but my forearms are enough to scare small children. “You telling me you want me to kiss you?”
“No! Shit. I just met you.”
“Yet here you are, in my bed.”
“That was not my choice. And you’re an ass.”
Her huff makes me smile and wish I could see the indignation on her face. I know she’s soft. Real curves. Silky hair. Dark brown, I think. Pale skin. “What color are your eyes?”
“Brown. Now are you going to tell me how this is supposed to make me feel better?” After a shaky breath, she settles, and I keep quiet, waiting to see if she really does trust me enough to do what I asked her to do.
The sheets rustle, and then warm fingers rest against my shoulder blade.
“Keep ‘em there, darlin’. All night if you need to. You’re not alone. Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll deal with it together. But for tonight, just know you’re not alone.”
Evianna’s shudders slowly taper, and I close my eyes, hoping this isn’t one of the nights I wake up in a cold sweat, screaming. The world starts to fade away when I hear, “Dax?”
“Yeah?”
“How’d you know?”
“Know what?” Careful not to spook her, I shift onto my back, and her hand moves with me, coming to rest on top of my shoulder.
“This. It’s like…you’re real. And touching something—someone—real…I can’t describe it,” she says with a little sigh.
“It grounds you.”
“Yes.” Her fingers move a little lower, closer to my heart. “Is this okay?”
Say no. Turn back over.
But the warnings in my head don’t stop my lips from moving. “It’s fine.”
“So…you do this with all of your hysterical clients?” Her voice carries a teasing tone under the exhaustion.
“No,” I say with more force than I intend. An intense emotion warms my chest, a desperate need to reassure Evianna that she’s…special. “You weren’t hysterical. And I’ve never brought a client here before.”
“Oh.” She edges closer, her warmth seeping into my hip. “At my house…how did you know I was in trouble?”
“I was coming to apologize to you. I was…an ass in the car. I heard glass breaking. And you tried to scream.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I…I think he would have killed me if you hadn’t been there.” A shudder wracks her body, and I ache to put my arms around her, but settle for covering her hand with mine. “You can be an ass all you want. You saved my life.”
“Don’t.” I have to put a stop to this. If I let the darkness inside me escape, it’ll destroy this woman I might already care for—even though we’ve only known one another for two days. “Don’t make excuses for me, Evianna. I know how I acted.”
The few minutes I spent holding her after the attack soothed an ache I’ve lived with for so long, it felt like it was a permanent part of me. But in the middle of her hallway, feeling her soft curves pressed against me, her breath tickling my neck, fingers digging into my sides, I felt…whole. The ache is back now, stronger than ever.
Get over yourself. You’ll never be whole again, and if you keep this up, sooner or later, she’s going to learn just how broken you are and she’ll never look at you the same way again.
Her other hand brushes my upper arm. “Why are you so hard on yourself? I wasn’t exactly the picture of empathy and understanding either. You’re human, Dax. You’re allowed to have a bad day.”
“It’s not a bad day. It’s…” More. Everything. “This is who I am.”
Evianna’s fingers tighten on my arm for a brief moment, but I don’t move. If I do, I’ll say something I can’t take back. Soon, her breathing slows and her entire body relaxes.
It’s enough. This one night. This is enough.
But…is it? She needed me to ground her. Now…she’s the one grounding me.
11
Dax
I’m surrounded by freesia. The delicate petals brush my cheek, and I swear I can see the damn things. White and yellow and pink and purple. The colors swirl together in my mind, and the subtle scent invades my broken soul.
And then, Evianna sighs.
Oh, shit. She’s in my arms. In my bed. I fell asleep with my hand on hers. But sometime in the middle of the night…one of us moved. She’s curled against me, my arm draped over the generous curve of her hip.
She’d whimpered. And I’d slid closer. Whispered to her. Held her. And apparently I’d never let go.
I try to slide my arm away, but she stirs and her fingers flutter on mine. But then, she gasps and her entire body tenses.
“Evianna, relax. You’re safe.” Her heart thuds rapidly against my chest, and she fights to free herself from my hold. “It’s Dax. Listen to me, darlin’. You’re at my place. Remember?”
“Oh God.” With a shudder, the tension leaves her body, and she burrows deeper under the duvet, closer to me, if that’s possible. “I didn’t know where I was. I’m sorry…”
With my arms crossed over her chest, I rest my cheek against the back of her head, trying to ground her. She’s wearing some sort of tank top, and her arms are bare, the skin soft and supple, and fuck, she smells so good.
And then fear sets in. If she looks…if there’s enough light in the room…she’ll see the scars all along my forearms. Though I’ve masked some of them with what Ford tells me are intricate tattoos of skulls, the Special Forces motto, De Oppresso Liber, and parts of the Boston skyline, there’s no hiding what I am.
A blind, broken monster.
“You apologize too much,” I murmur.
“Can’t help it,” Evianna says with a shrug. “After so many years apologizing for who I am and who I want to be, it’s kind of second nature.”
Anger flares up, hot and bitter. “Who the hell made you apologize for who you are?” If they’re still in her life, they might get a visit from Ronan. Or from me.
“I’m a woman in a position of power at a major tech company. Do you know how rare that is?” She turns her head slightly, and we’re almost cheek-to-cheek.
Any closer, and I’m going to have start reciting financial reports in my head to stop my dick from making its presence known. “Not really.”
“I had to work my way up from junior coder to CIO. Even with a masters in computer science engineering and an MBA. Through a dozen companies, overt harassment, not-so-subtle comments on my looks, my breasts, my…well, the c-word. A lot of the men felt…threatened, I guess.”
“Anyone at Beacon Hill? After last night, we know Kyle’s working with someone. Could anyone else at your job have it out for you?” All business now, I almost forget the pain in her voice. Until she blows out a long, slow breath, and I realize I’m being an ass again. “Anyone who’d say that to you isn’t a man, Evianna. Not one who deserves his dick, anyway.”
She laughs, bumping her shoulder back against mine. “That’s a new one. Doesn’t deserve his dick. I’m going to have to steal that.”
From the living room, my phone blares, “Text message from: Ronan.”
“I need to check that. Stay here. I’ll start coffee in a few minutes.” Letting go of her is the last thing I want to do. So why do I rush to get out of bed?
Because this can’t last, idiot.
My right leg aches as I take my first step, one more reminder of just how messed up I am, and I limp into the other room to snag my phone from the table by the door. “VoiceAssist, play last text message.”
“No movement at client’s house overnight. Headed to suspect’s apartment now, then to catch some Zzzs for a few hours.”
“VoiceAssist, reply to Ronan.”
“What do you want to say?” the computerized voice asks.
“Confirm. Be back online by 5:00 p.m. and check in.”
In the bedroom, I hear Evianna talking to someone—probably her boss from her tone, asking about the team, whether the latest performance numbers are in her inbox, and using a bunch of technical jargon I don’t understand. Taking the opportunity to put a little distance between the two of us, I close myself in the bathroom. My routines keep me sane. Brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair. Wince as one of the bruises from that asshole last night makes itself known.
So much for the routine.
“Dax?” Evianna knocks softly. “Can I get your wi-fi password?”
When I open the door, the dim light seeping through the curtains highlights her dark-haired shadow, and she takes a quick step back.
“Sorry, I didn’t—”
“Evianna, stop apologizing. I mean it.” Using her close proximity as an excuse to touch her, I rest my hands on her upper arms as I ease myself around her. “Come with me to the kitchen. I’ll write the password down for you.”
With her head turned away, she stammers, “I’ll, um, be right there.” And a few seconds later, I hear the water running. Maybe I’m not the only one worried about morning breath.
In the kitchen, I pull the bag of coffee from the cabinet, the measuring cup from its precise place in the top drawer, and fill the coffee machine.
“Can I…help?” Evianna asks from a few feet away. My fingers close around the handle of the pot, and I turn slowly, unsure if she’ll approach or wait for my invitation.
“You could fill this with water, then add it to the machine and turn it on. I don’t have a lot of food here. But there are granola bars and yogurt and apples—or I can call and have groceries sent over.”
“Dax,” she stops after she turns the coffee maker on, “I…if you could see me, I’d put my hand on your arm and tell you it’s okay. Coffee’s fine. You’ve done so much for me already…”
“VoiceAssist, lights on, sixty percent,” I say. It’s been so long since I wanted anyone to touch me, I don’t know how to ask. But if I don’t show her who I am now—what I look like in the light—when I finally do work up the courage, the rejection will be that much harder. “You sure about that?”
“About what—oh.” The uncertainty in her voice fades away as I hold out my arms. I only have a vague sense of what they look like. Memories from the last time Kahlid beat the shit out of me before he blinded me. But deep, jagged scars cover my right arm, and on my left, burns. Cigarette butts, a wimpy little blowtorch that still felt like it was melting my flesh from my bones, and more lye. Parts of me feel like sandpaper. Others, like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.
The coffee maker sputters, the first drops of black gold hitting the pot with a hiss, and I turn away, my hands not altogether steady as I open the cabinet and withdraw two mugs.
“I’m going to touch you, now. Okay?” Evianna whispers from behind me.
I’m not sure I can answer, so I nod as I set the mugs down, and her warm fingers skate over my forearms. “Will you tell me what happened?”
“Not a good story.” I can’t move. If I do, I’ll break this spell, this perfect moment where a woman I’m starting to care for seems to…want me. Or…at least isn’t repulsed by me.
“I feel like that’s probably the understatement of the century.” Pressing closer, she wraps her arms around my waist and leans into me. “Maybe the millennium.”
A laugh scrapes over my dry throat. “You c
ould say that.”
We stay fused together until the coffee finishes, and Evianna slips around me to pour two mugs. “I still want to know. And you promised me coffee in bed. So come on.”
As her soft footfalls recede into the bedroom, I’m left with a raging hard-on and no fucking clue how she can see me…any part of me…and not run away. But as she calls my name, I give up searching for a reason, and follow.
12
Dax
As I hover at the bedroom door, Evianna pats the bed. “I’m on the far side. I didn’t leave anything on the nightstand.”
The words I want to say won’t come. The ones that say she’s adapted to me, to sharing space with a blind man, faster than anyone I’ve ever met. The ones that tell her how much I do—and don’t—want to have this conversation.
Setting my coffee down, I sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. “You sure?”
The sheets rustle, and I can feel her warmth at my back. “I’m sure.” After a long pause, she clears her throat. “I don’t know what this is, Dax. Maybe I’m still reeling from last night. Maybe you’re the only person who’s made me feel truly safe in…years. Maybe it’s…nothing. But I want to get to know you. And whatever happened,” she skates her fingers over a deep scar on my forearm, and I don’t flinch this time, “is part of you.”
“It’s all of me,” I say.
Evianna huffs and scoots back against the headboard. “Doubtful. I think there’s a lot more to you than your scars.”
Cupping my mug, I rest my elbows on my knees. “I’m Special Forces, Evianna. Or…I was. Five years as a Warrant Officer—second in command. There were twelve of us. Once.”
The scent of the coffee helps keep me in the present, and I take a sip, trying to decide how much to tell her. The sanitized version or the whole fucking thing. “We were headed up into the mountains to meet with a group of villagers friendly to U.S. Forces. But some wet-behind-the-ears private didn’t encrypt his radio transmissions. The Taliban knew right where we were going to be.”